Even angels have a wicked scheme
by megyal
Summary: The process and product of their infidelity. Mpreg


_[Note: Originally published 2011-08-06 in other places, reposted here. If you've encountered it already, my apologies.]_

_This version does not have the explicit content found in other locations where it is posted. _

**Contains**: Infidelity; MPreg (male pregnancy; although, even if you dislike mpreg, I think there's very minimal mpreg-exposure)

**Other Notes:** Written for a prompt by **katay_chan** at **serpentinelion**'s 2011 Glomp Fest. Beta'ed by **tigersilver_. _**On other sites where it's posted, there are some cute images that complemented the story, but won't allow images within the story itself, as far as I know. This version does not have the mature content found in other locations where it is posted.

* * *

**Even angels have a wicked scheme (you'll always be my hero,even though you've lost your mind)**

Harry walked into the wide doors of the Four Cardinal Points Meeting Hall and Hotel, nodding at the concierge desk. The attendants on duty nodded in return; one of them, a tiny woman with bright eyes, gave him an enthusiastic wave and said, "Hello, Auror Potter!"

He dropped her a quick wink, and her welcoming grin grew even wider.

Good; his normal facade of calm self-possession seemed to be intact, hiding the trembling sensation in the pit of his stomach; that feeling of intense wrong and right jumbled up beneath a tight wrapping of anticipation. He went towards the lifts, which, unlike Muggle ones, had no doors, no hydraulic mechanism nor even an actual lift for him to stand in.

Harry stepped past the threshold between the floor of the lobby and the empty space of the lift-shaft. His eyes told him nothing was there to catch him and so there was that sensation of an unanticipated fall, a bare beat during which the bottom of his stomach fell out, before the lifting spells strengthened underneath his weight, solidifying against the soles of his feet.

"Fourth floor, please. Left wing." Harry said, very clearly. These particular lifting enchantments were new, but it was always helpful to enunciate crisply or one might find oneself being shunted off to some basement or the other. The spells hesitated only very briefly, before rotating so that Harry was facing the back of the lift-shaft. The brickwork before his eyes shimmered out of existence, leaving a rectangular shaped tunnel that stretched off into distant Wizarding space; bright sconces illuminated the way, flickering cheerfully.

The lift-spells carried Harry along this tunnel, moving serenely past other vertical shafts and then stopping at a particular one, to begin an upwards journey. When it arrived at the proper floor, Harry hopped out and expressed his gratitude for a safe trip. He received no reply, but nevertheless a pleased sensation emanated from the shaft. The incantations might not be vocal, but they appeared to have some level of sentience. Harry thought it was in his best interest to be polite.

He strode off down the corridor, his boots making almost no sound against the thick carpeting. Stopping before Room 413, he found a small section of the heavy door that was not covered with intricate and abstract carvings and rapped three times.

"That ought to be Potter," someone said from the inside and the golden door-handle turned. The door flew open rather quickly and Harry stepped in past its wide swing.

The thick feeling in his stomach worsened; despite it, he grinned at the other senior Aurors gathered around a large, round table, which held parchment and case-folders piled high on the wooden surface. Two representatives from the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions were present as well; one was a compact, lovely woman named Judith. The other was Malfoy.

"Hope I'm not late," Harry remarked, heading towards the free seat which had obviously been left for him. He withdrew a small packet from the front pocket of the long Auror-issue trench coat which he wore over his thin jumper and jeans before shrugging out of the coat altogether. He slung it over the back of his chair, sat down and enlarged his own set of case-files. Ron, Dempsey and Sewell gave him tired smiles and so did Judith.

"Not too late," she said in that crisp Nigerian accent that Harry's ears found so enchanting. "We've just finished with Auror Sewell's cases."

"Hopefully we'll get through yours quickly enough," Malfoy murmured. He had been the only one not to glance up upon Harry's entry. His head was bent over his long, lined book, filled with spidery handwriting and he wore his narrow spectacles, an addition Harry would likely never get over. Malfoy's hair had grown very long over the years, almost down to the middle of his back. He usually wore it in a severe braid, but today he simply had donned a black ribbon, which caught the long blond strands at the nape of his neck. The first time Harry had met him at the DPP's office the resemblance to Lucius had been almost staggering. Then, Harry had begun to notice how each feature of the younger Malfoy's face was a slightly softened version of the elder's; the whole effect, refined and spare, was far more engaging on Draco.

Malfoy finally looked up and his gaze briefly tangled with Harry's before it slid away, focusing on some point beyond Harry's left shoulder. Harry could relate; staring at Malfoy too long did something to the blood streaming through his veins: heated it, made it twist and curdle underneath his skin.

Harry nodded and opened his files. Within a few moments, he and the prosecutors were reviewing his current cases very quickly; they would request more evidence for support for some cases, or Harry would request that they supply him with a search-warrant to collect said evidence (he didn't get half the warrants he needed,, but no harm in asking, really). It was far more convenient to have these reviews outside the Ministry, for there was always some distracting activity which would require either the attention of the Aurors or the Prosecutors.

They went through Harry's current cases with quick precision, an effect of these regular meetings. Each senior Auror would now return to their assigned teams, reorganizing the partnered officers to effectively deal with the ongoing investigations. Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ron, wondering if he recalled when _they_ had been the ones being directed by their higher-ranking colleagues on minor investigations.

When Harry at last closed his files Ron stood up and stretched luxuriously. "I'm off," he said, and that was the cue for the others to shuffle to their feet. "Later, Harry."

"Alright, Ron," Harry answered and hoped there was no tremble in his voice. He rose as well, retrieving his grey woolen coat and putting it on again; fastening the large buttons, buckling the belt. Unnecessarily fussing, he tugged at the simple epaulettes which denoted his rank. He suddenly had no idea what he wanted his body to do nor where he wanted it to go. He felt almost unreal. Ron smiled at him once more, trusting and honest, and Harry helplessly returned a quick grin. The other Aurors departed by the open Floo, and Judith strode to the door in her stylish heels, waving at Harry and Malfoy before she shut it behind her.

With a strange sense of desperation, Harry wondered how none of them ever noticed he and Malfoy always managed to be the only ones left in the room after the meetings. He fumbled in the direction of the Floo, moving as if he was in a dream. He performed the locking spell to activate it and then stared at the compliant green flames, waiting.

"How are your children?" Malfoy asked softly behind him, but Harry still flinched, surprised. He turned around, feeling his lips pull back in a rictus of a smile.

"Don't ask about my children. Not now."

"Why not?" Malfoy looked at him, his cool gaze giving nothing away. "Your children are as charming as my own Scorpius, I've been told. They must have inherited that from your wife."

Harry exhaled, slowly.

"Right," he said, tone brittle and then turned towards the door. He was in the process of pulling it open when he saw Malfoy's right hand rise up from behind him and into his field of vision, the pale palm and long fingers pressing flat against the surface of the just cracked door. Harry let him close it; he stood there, staring at the intricate patterns carved on the face of the door, feeling the heat from Malfoy's body against his back. He shifted his gaze and looked at Malfoy's hand laying flat against the wood, a silver ring gleaming on the second finger.

Something tickled the side of his neck: breath, warm and slow. Harry parted his lips and exhaled as well, feeling the wrongness and the rightness bubble and move under his skin. He tried to think of Ginny, of the brilliant flame of her hair, the laughter in her eyes. The thought of her was obscured by the fall of blond hair he spotted out of the corner of his eye and the press of lips against the side of his neck. The touch was slow and desperate, almost frightened, but full of worshipful yearning.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Harry whispered. His breathing was coming faster, the same way it did when he was preparing himself for a vicious duel with an escaping suspect. In some ways this _was_ a fight, and he was losing it. "Malfoy."

"We are alone," Malfoy whispered, his voice trembling. Harry heard himself make a small sound, like a lost animal cornered in the forest. "Remember, when we're like this you must call me _Draco_."

Harry whirled around, arms reaching to either hold or push away, and then Malfoy was in between them, being held and being pushed away, his body thrumming with pent-up energy against Harry's forearms, against his chest. Harry felt the raucous thudding of their hearts, so close to each other. Malfoy's mouth sought his, then found and claimed it, laying waste to every feeble demurral.

Malfoy dragged him towards the bedroom of the hotel's suite, or he perhaps was dragging Malfoy; he wasn't sure. They spun and stumbled as they went, a surprisingly complex dance characterised by the removal of clothing and punctuated by hard kisses and soft moans. They were in the bedroom, and then Draco was falling onto the bed, moving back to sit against the utilitarian headboard, Harry crawling atop his lap. Skin, glorious skin and all Harry's to touch and taste, pale Malfoy like cream against his tongue.

_Oh god_, he thought, even as he straddled Draco's long, lean body and gazed down at his willing captive, _why can't this have been mine before?_

_Then you wouldn't have had your beautiful children with your loving wife._ That cold, accusing thought was almost enough to make Harry slide off Draco, put on his clothes and walk out the door, definitively ending this hot, illicit excitement that had gone on for four months or so...four months too many.

Then Draco reached for him, and Harry thought no more of walking away.

.:.

"We can't do this again," Harry told the ceiling. A futile phrase, if he'd ever heard one. He'd said it more than once before.

Draco exhaled slowly. "That is advisable," he said, another familiar refrain. He rolled over to press his mouth to Harry's shoulder. "If we go on like this..."

"We _shouldn't_ go on like this." Harry was trying for a firm, decisive tone. It was utterly spoilt by the fact that he had turned his face towards Draco, and their lips collided in a slow kiss.

"Yes," Draco groaned against his mouth; whether he was agreeing with what Harry said, or affirming something quite separate from the current issue, Harry didn't know, because Draco was on top of him again, half-hard and rubbing against Harry's eager body.

.:.

Ginny stood outside the door to the bathroom, listening to the soft singing and splashing of water as Harry took his bath. She could hear the children playing out in the back garden, and hoped that James was watching over his brother and sister. Knowing James, that was probably too much to ask, but at least Tyr was out there watching them. Tyr, a descendant of Hermione's beloved Crookshanks, was as clever as his ancestor, and would come running to find Ginny or Harry if anything happened to any of the children.

Ginny inhaled and touched her wand, secure in the slender pocket of her loose trousers; there was a tiny packet of powder right alongside it, but she couldn't feel it then. She couldn't _believe_ she was even thinking of doing this, or even why she felt she had to; however, her mother had always told her to trust her instincts. In this case, it was more of a deepening suspicion than an instinct, and one that was incredibly unnerving to consider.

She gathered all her courage and knocked on the door. The song, which was some rhythmic Auror training tune, cut off abruptly; Harry had a nice singing voice, but he was rather self-conscious of it.

"Yes?"

"It's me," Ginny said, and gave in to the laughable need to identify herself. "Ginny. Can I come in?"

"Of course." Harry sounded surprised that she would even ask. Ginny opened the door, peering inside. The cover of the toilet was up, just as she had hoped, and the sliding door which closed off the sunken bath from the rest of the room was pulled shut.

"How-" There was something caught in her throat, and she cleared it. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better. I hear I'm not the only one with this bad stomach-bug. It's been going around," Harry said, but he still sounded tired and worn out. He'd been sick for the past week or so, so nauseous and dizzy that he'd been given two weeks' leave from even desk-duty. "The tea you made for me this morning, that helped."

Ginny pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stifling the hysterical laughter. That tea was a special mix that her mother had given her. "Did it?" she finally managed to say in a very level tone.

"Yeah. And you? How was your day, sweetheart?"

It was the _sweetheart_ that nearly stopped her in her tracks. Harry had been..._distant_ lately; he wasn't the type to be expressive with his emotions; as a matter of fact, he could be downright cold when he needed to be, and Ginny saw it on his face when he came home from work: an intense and shrewd calculation that sometimes took more than a few moments to fade away into his affable at-home facade. In the past few months, it had seemed that he had taken a few large steps away from her in his mind.

Ginny swallowed, hard, and reached into her pocket for the small pouch of cream-coloured powder, a special blend of wheat and barley seeds that women bought at the apothecary's in Diagon Alley. Well, mostly women and few men, at times. She went quickly over to the toilet and nodded at what she found. It was an annoying habit, but Harry sometimes didn't banish the water in the bowl after he took a piss. This came from his days living with the Dursley's, for he had once told her his Uncle Vernon would berate him for wasting their water. In the magical world, the toilet was the same shape, but Harry never gained that automatic action of banishing the water after urinating, causing the toilet to refill again. He had gotten much better at it during their marriage, she had to give him credit for that, but his illness had apparently made him forgetful this time.

For once, Ginny was grateful for his temporary absentmindedness. She quietly opened the packet and poured the powder in the toilet-bowl.

"Gin?" Harry said and she actually jumped, looking in the direction of the bath with eyes that felt too large for her head. Her heart thudded in the cage of her chest.

"Yes?"

"I was asking how your day was. What, are you on the toilet?" He laughed a little. Ginny laughed too, but she was watching the powdered water very carefully. If it changed colour, then everything changed...everything had _already changed._

"It was fine," she answered. "Broke up a few fights, though. Did you know that _biting_ is an acceptable method of in-flight attack among junior Quidditch players nowadays? I wish I could bite them to get them to finish their training, but I'm but a mere coach."

Harry chuckled all through her dry spiel; he had always claimed to love her sense of humour.

"Do you want me to run the bath for you when I'm done?" he asked. "Just taking a soak for my poor old bones. They ache."

"Get on with you," she said, faintly. The water was changing colour. "You just need some more rest. But that's fine, I'm not ready yet. Think I'll make do with a shower."

The water was blue. Under normal circumstances, it should have remained the original cream shade of the powder, but obviously this was not a normal circumstance. Mechanically, she flushed the toilet and dropped the pouch in the wastebasket. She washed her hands and walked out into the bedroom. Behind her, she could hear Harry talking, but she didn't bother to inform him that he was conversing with thin air. She sat on the bed and stared at the window, one hand loosely cradling her wand in her lap.

He came out of the bathroom after a few minutes, a large blue towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing at his hair with a smaller, pink one. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the trim shape of his body, the trail of dark hair on his stomach. He would never be built like Ron, all tall muscle, but he was still slim and lithe.

Not for long, though.

"I was in there talking to you!" he said, laughing as he dried his hair. "Did you have any dinner yet? I cooked chicken curry when I felt a bit better today, and no, I didn't make it too spicy, I know Lily hates-"

"You're pregnant," Ginny said, flatly.

Harry froze for a beat and then pulled the towel away from his head. His hair stood up in messy, half-damp clumps. He blinked at her, and his eyes were so green.

"We're having another baby?" He sounded calm, but vaguely excited. "I thought you had—"

Ginny made a sharp move with one hand, cutting his words off mid-stream. "Not me. _You_. You're pregnant." She still wouldn't look directly at him, because if she did, she couldn't…she didn't quite know what she was capable of doing.

The silence, however, seemed to pull her head around with gentle, implacable hands. When she finally gazed at him, he was looking straight at her, clenching the pink towel close to his chest.

"That can't be right," he said, voice low. "That's… Ginny, that makes no sense. Why in the world would you say that?"

"Because I know."

He frowned. "How do you know?"

"I did a pregnancy test on your urine. Just now, in the bathroom."

His expression took on an incredulous cast, almost on the edge of anger. "What…how dare you—"

"How dare you _fuck someone else_?" Ginny screamed, and finally, finally, the anger was here. Harry took a step back and with grim amusement, Ginny noted that he had fallen into a defensive stance, body half-turned away from her to present a smaller target in case she got physically violent. Good; she was _going_ to be physically violent in a moment. Her breath was coming in short, hard pants and she felt as if she was going to collapse any second, as if she'd been training for days, nonstop.

"Who was it," she asked and her voice trembled. "You're still seeing them, aren't you? Who is he. Tell me. Who is it." She kept saying it over and over as she stared at him, more of a demand than a question. He was shaking his head, slowly, but Ginny just kept saying it, beating at his negation.

"I'm…sorry," he said and Ginny actually bared her teeth for a moment, feeling feral.

"You're not sorry yet," she promised. He'd changed _everything_. "Believe me on this one, Harry. You're not sorry yet, and you'd better tell me who you let fuck you. _Right now_."

Harry said, "Malfoy," and then squared his shoulders, owning his horribly astounding choices. If she didn't hate him right now, she'd admire him for that. "Draco."

"Oh, Merlin," Ginny moaned and bent over at the waist, clutching her stomach as if he'd struck her there. "Don't come near me!" she yelled, knowing instinctively that he'd taken a concerned step towards her. "Don't—oh god, Harry, _what_?"

Harry was answering, but she couldn't hear a word he was saying. There was a roaring in her ears, like an out-of-control Floo. Draco Malfoy. Of course; who else could it be? Malfoy, with his deep voice and cool eyes. She'd seen them talking civilly at Ministry functions, and she knew they worked together on many cases. Of course it would have been Malfoy. Only that wretch could not only turn her husband into a poof, but get him up the duff as well. Malfoy had stuck his prick into her Harry. He'd come inside him. They'd had unprotected sex. Too many incredulous sentences were racing around in her mind and her stomach hurt even worse.

Presently, after a few gulping breaths, she sat up properly again, and got to her feet. She wanted to hex him, to damage him, to hurt him the same way she was hurting inside right now. A small voice that sounded like her mother (or herself as a mother) murmured in the middle of her mind, _Be careful. You might hurt the baby_. His _baby_. So she dropped her wand on the floor, so she wouldn't find use it in her anger, strode over to him and punched him in the face.

Harry's head snapped to one side, but when he turned his face to her once more, he appeared calm, almost...relieved. She had split his lip with her ring; blood erupted from the narrow cut. Someone was shouting, saying all kinds of dangerous, angry things. Puzzled, Ginny listened for a moment and realised this someone was herself.

She took a deep breath. She exhaled, and was horrified to find that her entire body was shaking. Harry stepped towards her again and she raised her hand _again_, fist clenched the way Bill had once taught her. Harry stopped, his eyes watchful. She wondered how sorry he really was, now that he had destroyed everything good she'd ever wanted.

"Watch the children," she said, tightly. Harry lips moved; she could see his mouth forming the 'W' of the _where are you going_, but she spun on her heel and left him there. Her destination, the focus of her dark thoughts, was Malfoy Manor.

.:.

Draco was starting a very light dinner with Astoria and Scorpius, when Plimmy materialized at his elbow and told him that Mrs. Potter had come to see him.

Draco put down his first forkful and folded his napkin, smiling slightly at Astoria's curious expression. Scorpius, who was poking at his seared chicken with apricot sauce, did not notice the exchange.

"Please show her to the Green Room, Plimmy," Draco said as he pushed back his chair and rose. Plimmy nodded, his ears flopping in uncharacteristic agitation, and then popped out of sight.

"Whatever could she want?" Astoria wondered aloud, and now Scorpius looked up, tilting his head.

"Who?" he asked in his small, piping voice.

"My co-worker's wife, pet," Draco told him, and then said to Astoria: "More likely she's come to deliver a case-file for Potter. He's been ill, I've heard."

Astoria considered his face very carefully. _Why didn't Potter send the file with an owl?_ was the question he anticipated (with a ready answer: _the information was too sensitive for owl-post)_, but Astoria nodded, and turned towards Scorpius with the parental refrain: "Eat your vegetables, darling." Draco excused himself to the chorus of Scorpius' complaints, rising with all the cool grace he had ever learned from his mother. His long strides took him out of the smaller dining room and down the hall to the sitting room reserved for unexpected visitors; as he walked, his mind ticked over the manner in which she might have found out. He could not isolate one; he had been the very pinnacle of discretion, and all his public interactions with Harry had been just a hair short of chilly professionalism. How he burned for Harry in those moments, but the practiced Malfoy veneer had always held like a well-built dam.

He would deal quickly and efficiently with Mrs. Potter, sending her home as soon as possible. Any accusations of hers would be swiftly and ruthlessly dismissed. He was going over his smooth, deflecting speech when he opened the door to the Green Room, so he blamed smug distraction on the fact that he didn't avoid the hex that struck him right in the face.

Draco staggered back against the wall beside the door, musing on a few things as he pulled out his own wand. One, that Mrs. Potter still had a clever hand with hexes, and with a husband such as the one she had, her hexes had a skewering accuracy that spoke of constant training; and two, the expression on her face was not of murderous discovery...she seemed calmed, almost impassive.

He deflected a few more hexes, gritting his teeth as one of them sliced through the material of his sleeve, leaving three long wounds on his upper left arm: not very deep, but as painful as cuts gained from handling new parchment. Draco whirled and executed a sonic-based charm, the small _boom_ shoving both of them back: her into the side of an armchair and him against the wall again; the shockwaves disoriented her to the point where she simply slumped there, needing a few seconds to shake her head.

"Now," Draco gasped out, "if you would kindly explain the _meaning_—"

Ginevra Potter's head snapped up and Draco watched as her entire arm moved in a wide circle, the tip of her wand gleaming a sickly pink colour. It wasn't one of the Unforgivables, but Draco recognized it as a very dangerous spell indeed. He raised his own wand, but he knew he would not be in time to stop it fully. The pink glow increased to an almost blinding brilliance; Draco's shield-charm was only half-made by the time the spell erupted from her wand.

His shield was suddenly bolstered, the lacy unfinished edges of it completed with the rapid warp and weft of someone else's magic. Draco turned his head away as the pink spell struck it and exploded angrily against the shield. He opened his eyes, and saw Astoria at the open doorway. Her small hand clenched her wand, which was pointing in his direction. She had helped protect him. Draco swallowed, hard.

"Mrs. Potter!" Astoria said, her voice so high and tight that Draco imagined she sounded a bit like Professor McGonagall at the moment; it was amusing, but not really. "Mrs. Potter!" she exclaimed again, evidently too overwhelmed to say anything else.

Mrs. Potter closed her eyes and shook her head, ruefully. When she opened her eyes once more, she inclined her head in short, mocking bow.

"Congratulations," she murmured, and Draco frowned at her. He glanced towards Astoria, who was looking back at him, her own elegant eyebrows pulled together in concerned conference.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco stopped leaning on the wall and straightened himself to his full, imposing height, glaring at her down his nose.

"He's pregnant." Mrs. Potter uttered a glassy laugh. "Harry, that is. He's having your baby."

Draco heard the words, but they didn't seem to sink into his mind in the normal manner. They seemed to mob the doorway to his understanding, clamouring there until he reluctantly opened the door. Once inside, they arranged themselves in order and seemed to vibrate in the space they carved out in his brain.

Harry was pregnant with their child.

"Do you understand, Mr. Malfoy?" Mrs. Potter smiled almost kindly at Draco, who felt as if his face had been transfigured into stone; she turned towards Astoria, with the attitude of someone passing on a particularly salacious titbit of gossip: "Your husband got mine up the duff, Mrs. Malfoy. Happy times for them both, I dare say."

Astoria's face, already naturally pale, had gone ashen. She stepped forwards, staring at Draco with wide eyes and then turned on her heel so quickly that the hem of her fine skirts whipped up, revealing the low, soft boots she loved so dearly; he had teased her just this morning that she might as well go to bed in them, she wore them that much. That event seemed decades ago, now. He didn't follow her out, just listened to the soft thump of her footsteps down the hallway. He knew where she was going. She was heading towards the Malfoy Family tapestry, that magical record that displayed every direct descendant of the line. On it, her name and Draco's were linked together with delicate curlicues, another tendril descending from their joining to the name of _Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, b.2006_.

Draco didn't follow her. It was one the rare moments in his adult life that he didn't know exactly what to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ginevra Potter sit in the armchair, replacing her wand in her sleeve. She was smiling at him.

Astoria's footsteps hurried back towards them; the entire Manor had gone so deathly quiet, Draco fancied that he might detect the feathery shuffle of the peacocks moving outside. Faintly, he heard Scorpius ask something, and then Astoria's uncharacteristically sharp answer; the words were muffled, but the tone was not and Scorpius began to cry, most likely in confused surprise at his mother's harsh response. If Draco's own mother was here, she would have gathered her grandson in a tight embrace, wiping his tears away. Narcissa was in Spain, visiting old friends. Draco wondered what her reaction would be when his indiscretion was fully revealed to her.

"There's another name there," Astoria said before she even properly entered the Green Room. "_Unborn Child_. With your name and H-Harry Potter's." The shudder in her voice surprised them both and Astoria's chin wobbled a little before she bit her lip to control herself.

Draco opened his mouth and Astoria's wand-arm twitched; she actually wrapped her free hand around the elbow of that jumpy arm, her fingers sliding over the sheer material of her sleeve.

"Leave us," she said, faintly, before Draco could say anything. He pressed his lips together for a moment, and then opened them again, about to firmly inform her that he would take care of all of this. Their marriage was not one based in romantic love, but he did have some affection for his elegant wife, if only for manifestation of the well-needed Malfoy heir in the form of sensitive, loving little boy; he was quite sure his liking for her extended past that particular detail. A regretful surprise filled him: he hadn't realized how much he didn't want her to feel hurt.

"_Leave_." Astoria hissed this time, her eyes opened very wide. Draco felt his mouth twist, and with a curt nod, he spun on his heel and strode out. The door slammed behind him and Draco heard a soft cry filter through the heavy wood. He paused in the middle of the hallway, his head bowed.

What an _utter_ clusterfuck.

"Daddy?"

Draco lifted his head at Scorpius' concerned tone. His son was sitting on the bottom step of the wide, curving staircase, peering out at him from between two carved balusters.

"Hello, my dear," Draco said, trying to smile. Scorpius eyed him from beneath his fringe of fine hair, a doubtful sheen to his pale eyes.

"What's wrong?" Scorpius asked, now gripping the two balusters. "Why's Mummy crying?"

"She's not feeling well. She'll be better soon," Draco lied. "Do you want to go somewhere with me? I'll take us through the Floo."

"Is she sick?" Scorpius asked at the same time, and was immediately distracted by Draco's assurance and the bright promise of going somewhere else. Scorpius was a lonely child, and highly curious about other people. "Oh! Yes, please." He scrambled to his feet, quickly brushed down the front of his robes and ran over to grasp Draco's hand. His hand was warm and small in Draco's; impulsively, Draco picked him up and perched the boy on his hip, something he hadn't done in a long time. Scorpius blinked at him, but did not make a fuss.

"Where are we going?" Scorpius slung his arms around Draco's neck as he walked quickly towards the fireplace, reaching for the urn of floo-powder. "Will we bring back something nice for Mummy?"

Draco smiled, but it was an unsure thing on his face, wobbly and insecure in its own existence. He hated his own smile at the moment. "I don't think she wants anything from me right now, Scorpius. Now, hold on."

Obediently, Scorpius's hold tightened. Draco said, "Red Feather Place," and stepped into the flames. Harry had given him access many months ago, but they'd never had sex in the Potter household. It would not have been right, which was a fairly ironic thought, considering the amount of wrong they had been up to. Draco emerged into a small sitting room, furniture plump with chintz. He stood there staring around himself as if he'd emerged on the moon, Scorpius peering at everything as if he was an ethnographer who had dropped into a heretofore undiscovered civilization.

The door opened, and a boy looked in on them. He appeared taken aback for just a few beats, and narrowed his brown eyes when Draco said, "You must be James. Is your father home?"

"Yes," James said, shortly, and slammed the door shut.

Scorpius said in a very prim voice: "He's rather rude, I find," and Draco stifled the kind of nervous laughter one would encounter while ingesting a heavy dose of the surreal. There were loud, angry shouts, a far cry from the expectant silence that Draco had left in the Manor, and then Harry pulled open the door once more. His hair appeared as if an owl skirmish had taken place in it; his eyes seemed tired behind his glasses, and he was far too thin for someone who was supposed to be pregnant.

Draco bent slightly at the waist, letting Scorpius down. He stepped towards Harry, who did not move away; however, his shoulders twitched and Draco stopped, just drinking in the sight of him.

Harry. Pregnant with his child.

"Harry," Draco murmured just to feel Harry's name on his tongue. So many things to be repentant for, and there were people who irreparably broken over what they'd done, but Draco could not make himself regret _Harry_. Harry's shoulders moved again, now in the slow wave of a sigh.

"You'll want dinner," he stated and spun on his heel to walk out. "Come on."

The surrealism intensified as Draco and Scorpius sat at a long dining table in the wide kitchen, opposite to Harry Potter's offspring. They gazed at him with barely concealed suspicion (the eldest), inquisitiveness (the middle one, _that_ one was all Potter, wasn't he) and indifference (the youngest).

"I'm so hungry," this youngest moaned, clutching at her stomach. That would explain her general apathy."_Daddy_."

"The rice will be ready in a moment. Hopefully you won't expire before then," Harry said from where he was poking about at a few pots. Draco had never imagined him to be this domestic, and it was an interesting insight, to say the very least.

"Who _are_ these people?"James scowled at the small contingent of invading Malfoys. "I don't like them," he continued, low enough that Harry didn't seem to hear and with a far amount of challenge. Draco just looked at him.

"We don't like you either," Scorpius snapped, sliding off his own chair and leaning against Draco's side. "You're not very impressive."

"Shut up," the middle one with the weighty names said. His half-friendly air faded away and his dark eyebrows almost bristled at them. "Don't talk to my brother that way."

"_You_ shut up," Scorpius said, and Draco placed his hand warningly on Scorpius' back, surprised at the intensity coming from his normally gentle child; he suddenly felt very tired."You shut your useless gob."

"You'd better get out of my house!" James yelled, rising to his feet. "You've done something to my Mum, haven't you? Why's she gone and why're you here?"

"I have not done anything to your mother," Draco tried to tell him. "Not directly, in any case," but the girl started to wail at the upsetting prospect of her mother's disappearance, the two boys were shouting at Scorpius, who was giving back just as good as he got in terms of vehement volume. Draco tried out his loudest court-room voice, asking them all to just _please be quiet_.

A large bowl of rice hovered towards the table and thumped down roughly in the middle; fluffy clumps of the grains scattered over the lip of the bowl. The girl Potter actually jumped and let out a thin shriek. Harry reached between his two red-faced sons, setting a wide, shallow platter of chicken curry beside the rice. He put his hands, still clad in oven-mittens, on their shoulders and pressed them back into their seats.

"Sit down," Harry ordered. "Shut up, _everyone_, and _eat_."

"But Daddy, I _can't_ shut up and eat," James pointed out, only to quail under Harry's thunderous glare. Harry watched as they quickly served themselves and dug into their dinner. He then glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye.

"You too, Draco and Scorpius."

The food smelled delicious and Draco spooned out some rice and curry for his son, who gripped his fork and dug in heartily. Draco recalled that they had not started their own dinner when Mrs. Potter had arrived. He didn't feel hungry, though. He simply considered Harry's taut expression as the other man sat across from him.

"You should eat," Draco told him. Harry nodded, but made no move for a plate of his own.

Draco wondered what it would be like to share some of this domesticity with Harry. He wondered what Harry would think when he found out that, thanks to an old Greengrass bonding spell, he was tied to Astoria as a co-parent until Scorpius was of 'responsible age'; it was fortunate she hadn't thrown in an infidelity spell into the ceremony, but she was more practical than most people gave her credit for, today's reaction notwithstanding. He wondered what Harry expected of him... and found that he really wanted to know.

However, he couldn't ask that now. All he could muster at the moment was a slow, "I'm sorry."

Harry's smile was quietly crooked. The sounds of the children eating, utensils scrapping on plates, smashed between them.

"Aren't we all," he said.

.:. .:. .:.

Harry walked quickly through his house, grabbing toys and...was this a _spoon_ in the potted plant? He rolled his eyes and banished it to the kitchen, throwing the toys in the air and muttering the same spell. The toys spun above his head for half a breath and then zoomed off towards the staircase; he heard them bumping into walls on their way up, heading towards the sounds of conversation and laughter. He went into his office, steadying the piles of folders as he pulled open the lowest drawer and dug through the maelstrom of odds and ends; he found the long, slender box he had stowed there earlier in the summer. Exiting his office, he stopped short at the sight of two travelling-chests waiting by the front door. They were new, and relatively tall, their wooden surfaces covered with decorative paper.

"Lils!" he bellowed, and the laughing upstairs cut short abruptly. A few seconds later, footsteps pounded along the corridor and he watched Lily racing down the stairs, tall for her age and as gangly as a colt. Her hair streamed out behind her like a red pennant, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Lils!" a voice yelled from behind her, a diminutive copy of Harry's shout. "Wait for me!"

She stopped halfway down the staircase and turned, holding out one hand and wriggling her fingers. Another set of footsteps thudded down each step, and then a little boy, chubby and wild-haired, grabbed her hand. This little boy was like Harry as Albus Severus had been at that age, except for the colour of his eyes. They were grey.

"Come on, Cay!" Lily urged, leading Harry's youngest child down the steps. Despite her previous hurry, she slowed down now for her brother's shorter legs. "You're making me late! Why did you have to bring all your drawing things, anyway?"

"But I need them," Caius Fred said, whinging quite a bit. He clutched his box of coloured pencils and large booklet of parchment to his chest. "Daddy gave them to me. The pictures move when I draw them!"

Lily glanced up at Harry as they approached him. Harry shook his head.

"Not _this_ Daddy," he told her and then accepted a torn scrap of paper from Caius. "What's this, Cay?"

"A message," Caius said, and Harry felt the anxious weight of the little boy's gaze as he perused the 'message' about being allowed in a 'Muggle Flyen Thing'. "Please, Daddy," he said, breathlessly, when Harry finished reading, smiling a little at Caius' drawing. His youngest loved to draw, and most of his missives had some small visual additive, as if words were not enough. Harry wondered if he would be anything like the Fred he was named after, always drawing his ideas instead of writing them like George.

"Where will you get to ride in Muggle flying thing?" Harry asked. "It's called a _helicopter_, though. Can you repeat the word for me?"

"Helipopper," Caius said and then went back to explaining his plans for a grand flying adventure. "Daddy said that he'd get one for me! And we all could go. Even Jamesy, if he wants." His eyes grew impossibly wider, as they did when he was about to launch into desperate pleading. "Please. Please, Daddy?"

"Knowing your Daddy, he's probably bought two already, and paid the pilots," Harry said, dryly. "When you _do_ get into one, do me a favour and don't fall out." He made a note to talk to Draco about this 'Muggle flyen thing'. They didn't disagree on many things when it came to their son and as long as Draco made sure to strap that wriggly boy in, then they were fine. Caius Fred whooped and bounced over to Harry, hugging his leg tightly.

"Alright, alright, I need this leg." Harry ruffled his hair affectionately and Caius beamed up at him. Harry held out the box he had retrieved from his desk drawer. "Give this to your sister."

Caius brightened even more and, taking the box, scampered over to Lily, who had opened her trunks to check their contents for probably the fiftieth time since yesterday. She seemed surprised when Caius waved the box under her nose, taking it from him before he poked her in the eye.

"What's this?" She smiled as she pulled the ribbon, making appropriately appreciative noises over the necklace found within. She held up the fanciful jewellery: meticulously hand-worked leaves hung from intricate loops, a golden dragonfly hanging from one of them; a beetle lounged on one of the leaves. The dragonfly's wings flickered, two gauzy twitches and then were still.

"You can put them in your hair, if you like. The bugs, I mean. Do you like it?" Caius was suddenly very shy. He had spent a long time poring over a great selection of jewellery when Harry had gone to the shop, and had claimed that the green leaves would look nice on his sister. Lily grinned at him, and put an arm around his sturdy shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze.

"I love it, Cay. It's beautiful."

Harry stood within the doorway which led from the living room and leaned against the jamb, folding his arms across his chest. When Caius had been born, there had been far too much going on in his life: most of the Weasleys hadn't been talking to him; his eldest child had been bitterly angry at the world (most of his world was made up of Harry, so that was understandable); his second child had simply stopped talking to _anyone_; his wife (at the time) had kindly refrained from taking the divorce documents for him to peruse while he had been in the middle of giving birth. His..._Draco_ was by his side, mostly, but their relationship was stilted, even though Harry itched to kiss and touch him. In the end, Harry decided that living by himself with his child was the best choice. Hermione barrelled her way back into his home and his life (she hadn't really left, truth be told), and dragged the rest of the Weasleys with her, the way a storm would haul detritus in its wake.

Lily's strongest and only reaction to Caius' birth had been deep disappointment that she didn't get a sister. For that, Harry adored her.

"It's just to thank you for spending your summer hols with us," Harry said now. "Your last summer before you go off to school."

Lily smiled at him. "Thank you, Daddy," she said, and ducked her head to hide the watery sheen in her eyes. Harry walked over to them and lifted Caius to rest on his hip. Caius snuggled against him, his hair tickling the curve of Harry's neck.

"We're ready, then," he said, keeping his tone soft so that there would be no tremor in his voice. Lily didn't look up; she sniffled, surreptitiously, rubbed at her cheeks with the back of one hand and nodded.

"I want to go to Hogwarts with Lily-Billy," Caius said, and then began to cry.

.:.

"You're late," Ginny said as they gathered with the rest of their children and other parents on. The train was puffing out important billows of smoke and Harry made out his two eldest children standing with their cousins. Hermione was giving her yearly lecture on comportment while Ron sorted out some argument between Hugo and Lucy. Lily had headed over there as soon as they'd arrived, and Harry felt as if she was moving away at the speed of light.

"Hello, Caius Fred." Ginny called his full name as she always did, in a carefully neutral tone. She stared down at Caius, who was hopping from one foot to the other, counting under his breath. "Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"Hello, Aunt Ginny," Caius said and made an even larger hop, grabbing onto Harry's jeans to steady himself before trying it again. "What? Oh, no, I'm just jumping."

"Just jumping," Ginny mused, watching him for a long while, before glancing up at Harry. "He's quite energetic, isn't he?"

"He is," Harry said and then winced as Caius let out a piercing shriek of delight. "Caius, come on."

Harry reached out and held one of his chubby arms before Caius could lurch off in the direction of Draco and Astoria Malfoy. They were walking behind Scorpius, who was _impossibly_ tall; what in the world was he eating at the Manor? Draco looked at Harry and nodded, his expression composed into calm planes. However, when his glance shifted down to Caius, his lips moved up in a smile. Caius was practically vibrating at this point.

"Don't run," Harry warned, because Caius had developed that childhood trait of sprawling flat on his face when he broke out into any gait faster than a walk. Harry had had enough scandalous coverage in the papers during his pregnancy. He didn't need to see _**HARRY POTTER: BAD PARENT**_ screaming from the headlines, despite the fact that this wasn't exactly his first go at the job.

"Okay," Caius promised and when Harry let him go, he didn't streak like a thoroughbred horse out of the gate. He did, however, execute a rather speedy walk. Scorpius met him halfway, bless his Ravenclaw heart, holding his brother's hand and guiding him back to their father. Astoria looked at Caius in the same manner Ginny did, that air of bland consideration, but she smiled after a moment when Caius began his irrepressible hopping once more. This was a real smile, which was good; nothing like the icy sliver she bestowed on Harry when he went to the Manor to collect Caius.

"I can't get over how much he looks like you and Al," Ginny muttered. At that moment, Al pushed his way through the crowd of Weasleys and strolled over to where the Malfoys were stationed, a glacial oasis in the teeming mass. He touched Caius on the shoulder, and even from where Harry was standing, he could hear Caius' enthusiastic greeting of his other brother. James didn't move from where he stood in the Weasley section; he had waved when he'd seen Harry, but had made no effort to come closer. It hurt Harry far more than he hoped he let on, to have James still so cool towards him, not visiting the way Al and Lily did. However, Al claimed that James asked about Caius quite regularly. Most of Caius' notes excluded James from the imagined activities, but Harry noticed the way his youngest stared at the family pictures at the wall at home, petting the photographic James when he thought Harry wasn't looking.

Maybe there was some hope.

Caius was climbing Draco like a tree, using handfuls of the fine material of his father's robes as the patient ease of a parent, Draco swung him up into the crook of his arm. Caius pulled at Draco's hair until that long braid was looped over his shoulder. The brightness of that coil, set against the dark material of his robes, drew Harry's eye and he almost didn't hear when Ginny asked if he wanted to come to her house for dinner.

"What?" Harry stared at her. "Me and Caius over at your place for dinner?"

"Well, the house is empty with the children all gone." She wasn't looking at his face. "And Caius...well, you'll bring him along, of course, if he isn't staying at the Manor."

"Oh." Harry exhaled slowly, not bothering to his surprise. Ginny's anger had been a thing of terrifying wholeness, and he'd wondered if she would have resorted to spiteful violence when she'd actually visited him in the maternity ward at St. Mungo's. He started to nod, wanting to agree and then he glanced in Draco's direction again. Draco, gravely withstanding the fact that Caius undoing his braid right in public, was staring at him.

Responsible age; Draco wouldn't leave his wife because of that Greengrass spell that bound him to her as a constant co-parent for Scorpius. Harry had assured him that he'd understood, but he wondered if Draco suspected the sharp hurt which took up residence under Harry's heart, alleviated by Caius' cheer.

_Responsible age_. To his dismay, Harry found himself wondering if Scorpius was finally at that point. Harry hadn't even been waiting for Draco, just going on with his life as best as he could. Or...possibly they'd both been caught up in limbo for each other. Draco shifted Caius in his arms, as if he was about to step away from Astoria and move towards Harry.

"So. Dinner?" Ginny asked again. Harry kept his gaze locked with Draco's and waited.

_fin_


End file.
